The ABCs of Harry Potter
by HollyShadow88
Summary: Inside you'll find the result of a challenge - over a period of 26 days, I wrote one story each day about a character whose last name begins with each letter of the alphabet. A further, brief explanation can be found at the beginning of chapter one. The ratings, genres, characters, and worlds differ by story, so look closer for more info!
1. Awareness

**And so it begins! This was a challenge posed by a Facebook group I interact with. It's a group of local National Novel Writing Month participants, and it was proposed that an alphabetical challenge, where a word for each letter of the alphabet become the focus of a story for the day, would be an interesting undertaking. Due to my love of Harry Potter (as well as an equal love with my fellow NaNoers **** ), I decided that I wished to undertake the challenge. Hence, the ABCs of Harry Potter. Each day, beginning at the start of April, I wrote a story with a character from the books whose last name started with the letter of the day. Each has its own list of characters, ratings, genres, and world at the beginning of the story, so pay close attention to those! The rough drafts are all complete, so how fast I post depends on how fast I can edit. Let the fun begin.**

**Before we get too far into this, I have to give kudos where kudos are due. So that I wouldn't have to go through all seven books and completely remind myself of characters and their back stories, I relied quite heavily on the Harry Potter Wiki, particularly for those characters that aren't as well known. Many of the stories that I came up with stemmed from the Behind the Scenes section under each character's page, so if you want to know more, I highly suggest checking that out. So thank you, Harry Potter Wiki, and insert obvious disclaimer that I am not, in fact, J.K. Rowling. Sadly.**

Awareness

**Right, so our first story is on the lovely Hannah Abbott. I'm not super into her and Neville as a couple (I am a Neville/Luna shipper all the way), but I wanted these stories to stick as close to canon as possible. I won't say too much more here, since I already had an exceptionally long and obnoxious author's note, so on with the show!**

Characters: Hannah Abbott, Neville Longbottom

Rating: T

Genres: Hurt/Comfort, Romance

World: Hogwarts, _Deathly Hallows_

If anything was a prefect illustration of one of her most dreaded nightmares, the prospect she was about to face was certainly it.

The Hogwarts Hannah left behind nearly a year ago was gone. The safe, welcoming (though, admittedly, known to share more than the usual amounts of unusual circumstances) environment had been replaced by an overarching, equally felt fear. Fear and the near constant threat of complete madness and destruction.

This was not what she needed, not now. Her mother's death made her quieter, more contemplative, but not in an entirely positive way. She'd looked forward to her return, even if it meant she had to retake her sixth year, but this? This place was a mere dark shadow of the school in her memory.

She had thought (though, studying the clenching of emotions rippling through her chest, she suspected 'desperately hoped' might be a better choice of phrasing) that she could find some sense of normalcy here. Going to classes, doing homework, taking exams – the familiar acts that came with attending a school, that could lull her gradually back into herself. It was impossible now, however. _He _was out there and until he was destroyed completely, that innocence was lost for her and most of her generation.

Hannah wandered the corridors aimlessly, indifferent for once of the possibility of punishment. Nothing the Carrows did to her could be worse than what their _colleagues_ had done to her mother. Besides, nothing she could do, right or wrong, would stop them from harming her if they believed she deserved it. She became suddenly aware of her surroundings, taking in the familiar sight of Barnabus the Barmy and his ridiculous display of lunacy. A soft smile came to her lips as she automatically began striding before the hidden entrance, repeating solemnly in her mind, _I just need a place to escape and forget._

The door silently slid open and she entered, letting out a low, appreciative gasp as she took the room in. It was tiny, smaller than she had ever seen it, with barely enough space for much besides the massive bookcase and cozy couch it held. Nearly half of the wall opposite her sported a fireplace, lighting and heating the room to a sufficiently comfortable state. Overall the arrangement looked simple, bare and unimpressive even, but she appreciated it nonetheless. It didn't seem like much, and yet it was exactly what she sought. Hannah slumped onto the couch wearily, breathing in the coarse smell of the logs and letting out a barely distinguishable sigh. Falling to lie on her back against the plush surface, she considered the ceiling and willed herself to stop thinking.

She had no way to tell how long she lay there, whether minutes or hours. She fought against the spirits attempting to dominate her mind – her Muggle father, alone and confused without his wife and daughter; her friends, concerned and edgy though they tried to appear normal; the entire school itself, tense and on the cusp of rebellion, waiting anxiously for that single trigger to set off their excess emotions. She simply wanted it all to disappear, Obliviate itself from her mind so that it no longer worried her constantly. As she contemplated what it would take to perform the unfamiliar spell on herself, the almost imperceptible sounds of a door shutting and padded footsteps caused her to bolt upright, wand at the ready. She did not expect the face that blinked down at her.

Neville. Of course. The Gryffindor _would _come looking for her when it was apparent she did not wish to be found. Or perhaps that wasn't it at all. Maybe he simply sought the Room for his own purposes but couldn't because it was already occupied. Speaking of that, she wondered… "How did you get in?" she blurted out, face flushing as she realized her thoughts had morphed into words. Rubbing the back of his neck, he grimaced slightly.

"You, ah, didn't close the door all the way, "he said sheepishly in reply. "I saw it open and thought I should check…"

He wasn't looking for her then. Figures. She sat back against the couch, facing the fire once more as she answered. "Just me, sorry. I'll pay better attention next time."

She expected him to leave. She figured that, having seen his duty accomplished, he'd go back to his little Gryffindor friends and leave her be. Needless to say it was quite a shock when, instead of retreating, he came to her side, sitting down beside her and grasping her shoulders lightly. The touch made her flush, but she did her best to ignore it.

"What's wrong, Hannah?" he inquired, blue eyes searching her face. She sat frozen for a moment, unsure if she could speak, before her body acted for her. Heaving a great sob, she collapsed across him, tears blurring her vision. Neville simply held her in place, a single hand rubbing lightly up and down her back as she released her excess of emotions. After several minutes, she was able to straighten, attempting to wipe the certain monstrosity of a mess from her face. Without a word, he conjured her a handkerchief, which she took gratefully. Having cleaned herself slightly, her voice returned.

"It's just so different now," she whispered, gaze on the floor at her feet. "I mean, at home, it's been different for a while – I'm used to it. But here, at Hogwarts….it was supposed to stay the same. It's a constant, familiar presence…the outside world wasn't meant to have an effect on it. But it's not…and I don't know if I can handle it."

"You're right," he agreed, nearly as quiet as she. "It has changed, and we have with it. But it can be good, you know? Not all change is for the worst." He groaned slightly, attempting to clarify his point. "Look, it isn't as though we have much say here, it is? Which is ridiculous – we've been through more in the last few years than some adults…but the point is, if life's going to change, we should face it. Front it with brave hearts and all that. It isn't going away, so we may as well confront it, right?"

She sniffed once before nodding. "Yes. Of course. I'm sorry, it's just so…"

"Wrong," he supplied when she trailed off, causing her to laugh softly in agreement. They fell back into comfortable silence until Hannah realized she still lay partially across him.

"I'm sorry!" she apologized again, feeling her cheeks heat enthusiastically, but Neville merely smiled and pulled her back down into a more comfortable position. He sighed lightly as she resituated herself.

"Don't worry about it," he muttered into her hair. "If it makes you feel better, I'm happy to oblige. You deserve a bit of comfort after all that you've been through."

And, much to her surprise, she admitted that he was entirely right.


	2. Bargaining

Bargaining

**When I was making the list of characters for this project, I really wanted to go about it alphabetically by last name. If you search on the Google, you'll notice that Mr. Bagman is not, in fact, the first B – I believe that honor goes to some random Hogwarts professor that is mentioned maybe once. I really like Ludo's character and hate that he was cut from the movies, so I couldn't resist writing a story about him. I made him quite a bit darker than our usual view of him, which I still think fits his characterization well. Regardless, Dark!Bagman is ridiculously fun. Enjoy!**

Characters: Ludo Bagman, Rita Skeeter

Rating: T

Genres: Drama, Mystery

World: Pre-Hogwarts

"Mr. Bagman! What will you do now that you've been acquitted?"

"Will you be returning to the Quidditch pitch any time soon, Mr. Bagman?"

"Mr. Bagman, is your offer for a Ministry job still standing?"

"Mr. Bagman!"

"Mr. Bagman!"

Raising a stocky hand, Ludo brought the crowd to an eager silence. He grinned charmingly at the group of media personnel, a surge of pleasure rising in the pit of his stomach. He always enjoyed the appreciation and attention that came with being famous; it was half the reason he became a Quidditch player, he suspected. A sigh of relief escaped his throat as he readied his prepared response.

"I am incredibly grateful for the endless support and encouragement shown to me by my fans over the last few weeks. This entire situation has been an unfortunate misunderstanding which, thanks to the dedication of the Ministry of Magic and the tireless work of the Wizengamot, has been justly resolved. For the time being, I plan on resting and refocusing – I'll need a clear, centered head before deciding what I shall do next."

Once his mouth had closed, the cries returned, renewed and invigorated by his brief statement. He beamed at the group and pushed himself easily through, refusing to speak anymore. He knew many grew disgruntled with the paparazzi quickly, but he flourished in it. The constant bombardment of inquiries, the blinding flashes of cameras and the rapid scribbling of notes – it was infuriating at times, certainly, but it signified that he was _something_. He was important, significant; that he mattered. It frustrated him at times, just as it did many others, but at least it provided him with the proof that he was known.

Somehow he managed to make his way to the Floos, giving the press a final enthusiastic wave of farewell before entering the green tinged fire. Rather than return straight to his home, he climbed out of a local open fireplace in the heart of London. He immediately headed for a familiar pub, a Muggle establishment he often frequented when he'd rather not have the entire Wizarding community seeing him in a drunken stupor. Once inside, he made his way to an available stool, giving the barkeep a friendly nod. The man responded similarly before sending him the usual pint Ludo requested. He took a long gulp, relishing the sharp burn. A slight chuckle escaped his lips as he studied the murky liquid's surface.

"Mr. Bagman. Fancy finding _you _here." H e turned sharply at the feminine voice, a frown creasing his brow. The attractive blonde smirked knowingly down at him, her ruby lips curled in a sharp, counterfeit smile. Her heels clicked determinedly across the grungy wooden floor as she came to sit delicately at his side, tossing her crocodile-skin bag onto the counter before waving over the barkeep. After ordering a whiskey, she turned her brilliant green eyes back on him, readjusting the small spectacles resting on the very edge of her nose with a single thick forefinger. Ludo forced down a second swig of alcohol before deciding to speak.

"I've heard of you," he remarked, facing away from her. "Rita Skeeter. You're new with the Prophet."

"New, yes, but you've heard of me nonetheless." He sensed the arrogant smile in the tone of her voice. Hearing a soft click, possibly of her handbag snapping closed, he growled slightly.

"You will not be recording this." It was a demand rather than a request, but he was startled when she laughed at his exasperation. Narrowing his eyes, he glanced at her, noticing that her hands were empty and her arms crossed.

"I had no intention to, surprisingly," she smoothly replied, turning her smile to the barkeeper as he placed her drink before her. She sipped it slowly, arched brows watching Ludo over its brim. "I simply needed to satisfy my own curiosity. _This_ time."

"What do you want, Skeeter?" he grunted, gaze falling forward once more, away from hers. He'd humor the woman, to a certain extent, but had no intention of revealing the truth.

"Are you really innocent?"

He blinked several times at her unabashed question. So far, she was the only one to ask it, though it seemed the most obvious of inquiries given the circumstances; most of the press had been more interested in what he'd do next, rather than the reason he was on trial itself. He had to admire her bluntness – it was a sign of the type of reporter she'd become with practice, making her ideal for the excuse that was the Daily Prophet. It took him a long, pondering moment of watching her expectant young face for him to find a response.

"Why that, of all things? Don't you trust our judicial system to make the correct decision?"

Her cynical snort of derision sent a jolt of amusement through him. "Please. The Ministry, while a bit better off now that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named has been defeated, is pathetically biased. A young, attractive, and popular Quidditch player on trial for discussing something as trivial as you claimed with a family friend who just so happened to be a Death Eater? It would have been more shocking had you been found guilty."

"But you are uncertain."

Her face turned sour, her lips pursing. "I am a journalist, Mr. Bagman. I seek the truth in order to properly relay it to the public. Whether I think you are guilty or innocent is trivial."

"You will not go far in this business with that attitude," he admonished. "The public may _think_ they want the truth, but can they deal with the consequences that come with it? What would happen if, say, you discovered I knew _exactly_ what I was doing when I spoke to Augustus Rookwood?"

An almost unnoticeable gasp came from her dark lips. "You…did?"

Chuckling, he took a sip from his nearly empty mug. "Perhaps. Then again, perhaps I simply wanted to catch up with an old acquaintance. That's what that whole trial was about, after all – did charming, personable Ludovic Bagman, famous Beater for the Wimbourne Wasps, knowingly and with full intent of defying the British Ministry of Magic, reveal top governmental secrets to a follower of Lord Voldemort?" Finishing the last dregs of his drink, he stood, straightening his jacket before leaning close to her ear. "I suppose we'll never know, hmm?"

He walked from the pub, satisfied with himself despite failing in his goal of gaining a drunkenness strong enough to satisfy the stresses of the last month. That idiot Rookwood would be properly punished, locked away in Azkaban where his secrets could stay appropriately hidden. As for Skeeter…she showed promise. He remained hopeful that this encounter would steer her in the right direction.

In fact, he would bet on it.


	3. Called

Called

**Hello again, friends! It's been a couple of days, but I'm home alone for the night and can concentrate on doing some much needed editing! This next one is on the Carrow siblings, another pair that the books involved much more than the movies ever did. I've debated back and forth whether this should be deemed an M or a T, and finally reverted back to the T at the last minute. I'll let you all be the proper judge of which is more appropriate. Anywho, I don't really have much to say about this chapter, so sally forth and review!**

Characters: Amycus Carrow, Alecto Carrow

Rating: T

Genres: Drama, Horror

World: Hogwarts, _Goblet of Fire_

Amycus slumped into a torn asunder armchair, feet sprawled out haphazardly before him. His robes appeared tattered, a stray stain or hole poking throughout the clothing portraying their advanced age. He gave up trying to mend them years ago; it wasn't as though there was anyone to give a damn what state his attire was in. Being a former Death Eater after the fall of the Dark Lord hadn't left him or his sister in very good standing with the wizarding world at large, so it genuinely didn't matter if he looked more like a Muggle bum than a highly educated wizard and member of the Dark Lord's army.

He and Alecto were at headquarters when it happened years ago. None of the Death Eaters present knew for certain where their master had vanished to, but all felt the underlying tension that night. He had been particularly temperamental over the past month, irrationally lashing out at everyone, Muggle, pure blood, and Death Eater alike. Amycus brushed it off casually – he wasn't the smartest man in the room, but he knew better than to question Lord Voldemort's actions. Better to simply do his job and hope he wasn't killed.

They had been plotting an upcoming attack on the Ministry when the long, keening cry of a woman jolted the group to attention. They saw Bellatrix Lestrange crumble to the floor, her slim body quivering, though none could tell if it were due to a curse or something far more sinister. The Carrows rushed forward with the rest of the followers, intent upon protecting one of the Dark Lord's most valuable followers if possible, but the words that came spilling from her lips sent a wave of frozen terror across the nearly silent hall.

"NO!" the madwoman screeched, pounding a fist harshly into the marble floor. "IT CANNOT BE! FIND ME THE CHILD, I SHALL KILL HIM MYSELF!"

"Pull yourself together, woman!" Lucius Malfoy demanded, shaking her shoulders roughly as he visibly attempted not to break down himself. The man's eyes darted across the faces of the mass about him, gulping in breaths in a fight to stay calm. "The Dark Lord is dead. We must flee. The Aurors will certainly be on us in minutes."

Even now, over fourteen years later, Amycus could feel the extreme rush of fear and incredulity that overtook him at Malfoy's words. The Dark Lord, dead? And by a _child_, a mere _baby_? If it hadn't been Malfoy, and Lestrange hadn't been in such a state of complete and utter anguish, he would not have believed it. He remembered grasping his sister's hand and Apparating them away without thinking, further proof that what they claimed was true; Voldemort himself set up the anti-apparation wards, and only his defeat could take them down.

They landed gracelessly in the dilapidated old house he currently occupied. It was an old family home, mostly left unused and forgotten once the eldest remaining Carrows took the mark. Seeing as the eldest were the only living of the family left, the building turned quite disgusting in their absence. It was all they had left, however, and in their state of sudden uncertainty it had seemed the best option at the time. Somehow neither ever managed to leave after that, finding strength in one of the few consistencies in their lives: one another.

His recollections were interrupted by the slamming of the front door and harsh approaching footsteps. Alecto slumpt into the room, tossing the bag over her shoulder onto their only table with a grunt. Her appearance looked no better than his own, her robes in a similar state of disrepair. She never became a very pretty girl as she grew older, he noted as she pushed her grungy red hair away from her face and glared impressively down at his prostrate form. Rummaging in the bag, she callously tossed him a half-empty bottle of firewhiskey.

"Up, you arse, or we'll be late," she grumbled as he took a generous gulp. Wiping his mouth sloppily with a hand, he stood and followed her upstairs.

"So who are we taking out tonight, Muggle or magical?" he asked, watching her dig through a dresser. She found two sets of robes that somehow managed to remain nearly presentable, laying them out on the mattress beside her to study them.

"Doesn't matter, does it?" she demanded. "Point is, they're loaded, with no one home but one sodding house elf. Easy pickings, this job."

"Magical, then," he remarked smugly, taking her dark glare in stride. "No Muggle owns a house elf."

"Well aren't you bloody _clever_," she sarcastically singsonged, stuffing one of the pairs of robes into his arms. "Think you're smart enough to make yourself halfway decent? We've got employers to impress."

His curiosity piqued at that. Most of their jobs involved Alecto interacting with the people who sought their services; she had always been the more personable of the two. Most of the time he never even knew their names, which was fine by him – the less he knew, the less he could reveal to those who would do best remaining ignorant. But from what she just said, it was apparent that this task was different.

"Who are we impressing?"

"A Barnaby Crude," she replied, tugging on her own robes and brushing them flat. "Says he needs us to uncover some old lost family heirloom or some such nonsense. Sentimental bollocks, but he'll pay us well for it."

"How much?"

"Thousand Galleons."

Amycus whistled appreciatively, attempting to smooth back his black hair. "By all means, then, let us go meet this Mr. Crude." He paused, a hint of awareness tugging at him from the name. "Barnaby Crude…sounds familiar, yeah?"

"If you say so," she replied as they tramped back downstairs. Suddenly, she froze, causing her brother to nearly run her over in the process, and clutched her forearm in pain. Moments later, Amycus understood why, as a very abrupt but entirely familiar burning cascaded across his skin. Wrenching the sleeve of his robe upward, he stared down at the tattoo he had mostly ignored over the last fourteen years. It pulsed and glowed lightly, sending another wave of pain through him as it provided him with a picture of an unknown graveyard. He gaped down at his sister, certain she had experienced the same thing as she looked back at him in shock. Almost in tandem, a pair of wicked smiles grew over both of their faces and, for the first time since Voldemort's fall, a faint giggle sprung from Alecto's lips.

"Does this mean…"

She nodded enthusiastically before grasping his elbow, preparing them to side-along. "It must. Crude can wait – we've got more important masters to call upon."


	4. Destiny

Destiny

**Ah, Fleur Delacour. Not my favorite character, I must admit. I also claim nearly complete ignorance of the French language, making this story particularly difficult. Anything actually written in French comes from Google Translate, so if they're wrong, I'm dreadfully sorry. As for my attempts at writing her English speech in a French dialect…well, let me know how I did, decent or terrible. It's my first attempt at writing so, and I'll only be able to improve with constructive criticism! This scene plays off the fact that, after the Triwizard Tournament, Fleur takes a job at Gringotts and meets Bill. I enjoy putting characters into awkward situation. :D**

Characters: Fleur Delacour, Bill Weasley

Rating: T

Genres: Romance, Humor

World: Hogwarts, between _Goblet of Fire _and _Half-Blood Prince_

Fleur nervously smoothed down her lavender robes as she climbed the bank's marble steps, eying the entrance warily. She reasoned with herself silently, for what seemed like the thousandth time since she awoke that morning, that accepting the part time job at Gringotts was the appropriate decision. Attempting to ignore the threatening notice posted defiantly on the door, she pushed her way inside, fighting with the early morning crowds attempting to make a quick withdrawal before setting off for work. She glanced to the right, where a long row of heavily laden desks, a witch or wizard furiously working at each, rested. Approaching what appeared to be a secretary, she pulled out the parchment of significant information she'd been sent a month ago and passed it to the sweetly smiling woman.

"Richard Burke?" she chirped brightly after reading Fleur's offering. "His office is located on the fourth floor, room 618. Would you like any help finding it?"

"Zat will not be necessary," she replied smoothly, making for the lifts behind the row of desks. She felt fairly confident in her ability to locate a single office; though she did not win, she _was _a Triwizard Champion, after all, and she doubted such a simple task would take too much toil. Her sharp heels made a faint clicking sound resonate through the vast room as she entered an available lift, a manicured finger pressing the appropriate switch. To her surprise, it began to descend – she had always assumed that only the vaults lay underground. Quickly regaining her composure, she waited for it to come to a halt once more and emerged into a dimly lit corridor.

After nearly three quarters of an hour of attempting to unravel the maze of eerily similar hallways, Fleur was nearly on the verge of tears. Her meeting with Mr. Burke was for eleven a.m. precisely; after glancing at her elegant wristwatch, she determined that she had less than a half an hour to locate him. She fought down the familiar sense of claustrophobia and tense anxiety as memories of the final task overtook her. She knew she had nothing to fear in the bank, but it had only been a few months since that day, and she still found that she did not do well in areas that were too encompassed without a visible exit. She rested a trembling hand against the wall, closing her eyes and taking several deep breaths in an attempt to calm herself, when a vaguely familiar voice stated her name.

"Miss Delacour?" the masculine tone asked with concern. She twirled about to take in the tall redhead, brows raised questioningly. More memories flashed back to her, though these were significantly more pleasant – he was one of the many Weasleys, she felt certain, an elder brother of the boy who helped save Gabrielle at the second task. A reassuring wave of gratitude flew through her as he slowly approached, not entirely sure if she recognized him.

"Monsieur Weasley," she replied with a sigh and an attempt at a smile. "It iz a pleasure to zee you again."

He smiled back down at her, shaking the offered hand. His significantly dwarfed her own, encompassing it almost completely in its calloused grip. She felt a faint rush of heat attack her cheeks and fought to keep the unfamiliar reaction in check. "The pleasure is certainly mine," he replied, adjusting the stack of parchment back more comfortably in his arms. "What are you doing in Gringotts?"

"Attempting to uncover my new employer," she replied, embarrassed as the blush defiantly remained. He nodded knowingly and gestured for her to follow at his side.

"Who are you looking for? These hallways can become quite labyrinthine if one is unfamiliar with them." A look of concern crossed his face as he studied her closer. "I did not mean to remind you of – "

"It iz fine," she was quick to reply. "Ze thought 'ad already come to me, I assure you. I am looking for a Monsieur Richard Burke – might you be able to point me in ze right direction?"

His smile returned, though a somewhat softened and more reluctant version of the one before. "I'll do you one better, Miss Delacour, and show you to him myself." They strolled down the corridor in silence, Fleur's frantic heartbeat slowing down considerably now that she had gained a guide. A highly favorable guide, she could not help but note as she stole a sidelong glance at the slightly older gentleman. He was handsome, though not in the classical way that she was, with his lean yet muscular body, long hair, and pleasant face. A moment later he cleared his throat, sneaking his own glance down at her.

"How are you doing, after…you know," he asked quietly, sympathy in his bright blue eyes. He quickly continued, "If you don't mind my asking, of course."

"I do not mind," she replied quietly, resolutely staring forward. "It iz hard, zome days. Cedric waz _mon concurrence_, my competition, but he was a good man. 'e, and 'arry and Viktor, we became friends. We cannot go through zuch an ordeal without it becoming zo. Zometimes I am reminded…I am cautious in ze water, and exits…I find I must know where to find zem. It iz foolish, I know."

"Not foolish," he said firmly, meeting her eyes when she turned to stare. "Cautious, and for good reason, particularly now. We've no way of knowing what could happen." They continued to watch each other silently, frozen in the middle of the seemingly empty corridor, until a loud voice made them both jump.

"Bill Weasley, what are you doing to my new staff member, hmm?" A stout man lumbered forward, looking between the two knowingly. Fleur was frustrated as once again her face heated, but she refused to hurl the snappy insult in favor of doing well on her very first day. She grew reassured when her companion's countenance turned nearly as scarlet as his ponytail.

"Miss Delacour and I are acquaintances, Rich," he hurriedly explained as she straightened slightly. "She lost her way to your office, so I was helping."

"Helping. Yes, of course." Mr. Burke smirked at the two before gesturing her forward. "Come along, Miss Delacour; you're just in time."

Fleur turned back to Bill a final time as her employer sauntered away. "_Merci pour votre aide, _Monsieur Weasley. I 'ope we shall zee one anozer soon."

He grinned broadly and grasped her hand again, brushing his lips softly over her fingers. "I look forward to it."

She merely nodded, unable to find her voice, and rushed after Mr. Burke. Before she could regain her composure, however, he called out to her.

"Fleur? If you need anything…help, or, or anything…let me know."

Sending him a sly smile, she replied, "You shall zee the sparks if I do." His amused chuckled followed her as she set off to rejoin her employer.


	5. Exposed

Exposed

**Marietta Edgecombe is yet another character who fell prey to Not in the Movies Syndrome. If you recall, she is the best friend of Cho Chang and rightful betrayer of Dumbledore's Army (though I do admit that I loved the fact that Cho revealed the group in the movie, mostly because I dislike Cho and think she's a whiny pansy). We don't know too much about her – mostly that she's a Ravenclaw, friends with Cho, and worried about her mother's job at the Ministry, which is why she tells Umbridge about the DA. I've always thought of her as kind of an ass, mostly because we don't really get a very good idea of her general character beyond her animosity toward Harry, but writing as her has given me a bit more perspective on what she might have been going through. I admit that the last line is probably a bit out of character, but I couldn't resist. Let me know what you think!**

Characters: Marietta Edgecombe, Dolores Umbridge

Rating: T

Genres: Drama, Angst

World: Hogwarts, _Order of the Phoenix_

"Professor…?"

The older woman's stout head rose, irritation flushing her cheeks. Almost instantly, her expression melted back into her usual sickeningly sweet yet completely unbelievable air of welcome as she set her quill aside, rising slowly to her feet. Marietta rubbed her elbow uncomfortably from the doorway, still debating with herself over her decision even now that her choice appeared obvious.

It all came down to pressure. Pressure from her mother – daily letters outlining the danger she was placing on her already questionable position at the Ministry, reminders of how difficult their lives were before they had a weekly income, threats of pulling her out of Hogwarts if she insisted upon continuing. Pressure from Cho – insistence that they were doing the right thing, cries and tears not to betray the boy she 'loved,' proof that they genuinely learned something of value at the secret meetings. Pressure from herself – disbelief that You-Know-Who had returned, sympathy for her best and only true friend, precise and yet utterly irrational hatred for the Boy Who Lived and stole her friend's heart. Marietta never did well with pressure, and the overwhelming build up of it over the last few weeks finally took its toll.

Umbridge gestured her kindly to a chair, but she refused to be tricked by this creature posing as a professor. As much as she irrationally disliked Harry Potter, she loathed Dolores Umbridge more. The woman was just so dreadfully fake, from her always perfectly set hair to the heels that clacked menacingly through the school's corridors. To a certain extent, Marietta could empathize with the way she acted. She was attempting to keep her job, same as Marietta's mother, and possibly even doing what she believed was right. That did not, however, give her the excuse to use her position to torment students. And she took such _pleasure _in the act – she hid it well, but Marietta spent her childhood learning how to properly people. Each new education decree, gradually growing more ridiculous in their attempts to not so subtly take over the school, left the young witch convinced that the woman was disturbed and in serious need of mental help. The fact that she seemed more than willing to harm a student to gain what she wanted was all the further proof Marietta needed.

Student sat before professor, each eyeing the other cautiously. Eventually, Umbridge tapped her tea kettle, silently offering Marietta a cup. She shook her head in refusal, Umbridge responding with an almost indifferent shrug as she took one of her own and returned to her desk. She continued to study Marietta over the elaborate cup's edge, her eyes sharp and calculating.

"What can I do for you, Miss…?" her overly kind voice asked.

"Edgecombe," Marietta replied, certain the toad knew exactly who she was the second she opened her office door. Everyone at the Ministry was being carefully watched, transferring down to the High Inquisitor watching their children. Her speculation was confirmed when Umbridge remained silent and unsurprised.

"Miss Edgecombe," she finally stated, lowering her cup to smile down at her. "Whatever is the matter, my dear? You must know you can tell me anything."

_As long as it's useful information, you mean_, Marietta thought viciously, but spoke before she could change her mind. "You're missing something very important."

The older woman blinked several times, obviously shocked and more than a bit affronted at her tone. "Excuse me?"

"There are rule breakers about," she continued, hoping she would catch her clues without Marietta needing to come out straight out and say it. "Right in the open, but you can't see them. They're too well hidden."

"Where, Marietta? Tell me where!" Umbridge gave herself away when she knew her first name. Marietta remained silent – she was a Ravenclaw, after all, which meant she was intelligent. She was not about to betray everyone without being given adequate cause.

It quickly became clear to Umbridge that she needed to employ a different approach. Rising to her feet, she came to sit directly beside Marietta, a pudgy hand resting on the arm of her chair. What may have been considered a concerned expression had it been anyone other than the Ministry's personal lapdog fell over her features as she stared down the teenager. "How is your family, Marietta? Is everything well at home?"

"It's fine," she tersely replied, refusing to make eye contact. This decision was proving to have been the more foolish of the two the longer she sat in the pink, kitten plastered office.

"Your mother?" Umbridge prodded, already certain that she chose the correct path of interrogation to follow if she wanted Marietta to crack. "Have you spoken with her recently?"

"She sends me a letter nearly every day," Marietta muttered, continuing to speak half truths. _Think, Marietta! You're a Ravenclaw; you can do this!_

"How is her new job going? She recently moved up in the Ministry, if I remember correctly. I was just speaking to Cornelius the other day – "

"I cannot make a single mistake," the girl blurted out, her thoughts somehow making their way to her lips. Though Umbridge attempted to appear dumbstruck, her eyes danced in triumph. She leaned forward eagerly, attempting to mask it as an affectionate pat on her arm.

"Of course not, my dear," she crooned. "The daughter's actions reflect on the mother, you know, and vice versa. As of yet I have no reason to doubt your sincerity, but should I discover something – "  
"There's a room, seventh floor, left corridor," Marietta stated dully, clenching her eyes closed as though her betrayal wouldn't be as obvious if she couldn't see the consequences. "Behind the portrait of Barnabus the Barmy. We've been meeting there to learn defensive magic."

"Who?" Umbridge breathed, excitement nearly radiating from her skin. "Who has?"

"An…organization," she stuttered. "Dumbledore's Army. Led by Hermione Granger, Ron Weasley…and Harry Potter."

The built up tension, a result of the excess of anxiety on her heart and mind, burst just as an awkward tingling began along her forehead. She tried to ignore it, and the growing feeling of panic and treachery that came as side effects of her confession, as Umbridge looked as gleeful as a child who had just been told Christmas was a weekly holiday. The professor ignored her, jumping to her feet and rushing to her fireplace to inform someone of the knowledge she'd just gained. Marietta tried to focus on stopping her, but the tingling was increasing, becoming more painful as the feeling spread. Quite suddenly it stopped, leading Marietta to seek out a mirror to study what happened. She stood to approach one that hung behind Umbridge's desk, a mixture of loathing, embarrassment, and righteous anger filling her soul as she took her reflection in.

The word SNEAK, spelled out in ferocious, fiery red blemishes, had formed across her face. Its cause was obvious, and she knew of only one of her fellow classmates who could have accomplished such an advanced and elaborate charm.

_ "That bushy haired bitch!"_


	6. Update

Hey guys! Just wanted to let you know that I've decided to do things a little differently from here on out. So that I can be more specific for each story, I will be posting the chapters individually, rather than on this specific story. I'll still label it as ABCs of Harry Potter, so hopefully it will be easy to pick out on my page! Anywho, I'm about to start posting, so keep on the lookout!


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